


Heiskaitriakonta

by AwayLaughing



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Backstory, Bad Parenting, Extended Demo Spoilers, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Gossip, Impoverished Patricians, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Politics, Sexism, Slice of Life, Terminal Illnesses, Uneditted, Unrequited Love, and a dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: from fyeah7kpp's tumblr promps, a collection of oneshots in one story. Might not actually be all 31, who know.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. The View From Rockbottom

Judicaël sat very quietly on his pillow, and tried to be subtle while playing with Lady Amahita’s little dog, Mer. He had not seen Mer since she was a nameless puppy, and now, though mother said she wouldn’t remember him, the white little mop was happy to lay on her back and let him rub her tummy. So busy was he with Mer, in fact, he didn’t realize mother had stopped talking with Lady Amahita until Loïc prodded him in the ribs.

“Pay attention,” Loïc said, pulling Judicaël up by the elbow. Judicaël was too busy stifling his yelp to respond, and so simply let himself be guided.

“-very honoured to have your time and patronage,” mother was saying, which Judicaël knew to be a cue.

As one, he and Loïc bowed before the green and white clad woman. “Thank you Lady Amahita,” they chorused. She grinned at them, dark eyes dancing.

“You are welcome, a good patron always makes time for her clients,” she said, gaze sliding down to her little dog – who was upright and looking hopefully up at Judicaël. “Mer agrees with me.”

Called out, Judicaël knew better than to fidget, though he wanted to. “Yes my lady, she’s a very good dog.”

“Good breeding,” lady Amahita said, “but don’t let me keep you longer, you’re carriage has probably returned. Iskandar will show you out.”

Judicaël, too relieved about getting mother a compliment to remember to be careful, very nearly told her they hadn’t had a carriage – but Loïc was waiting, and poked him again, this time in the back.

“Yes, we mustn’t keep anyone waiting,” mother said, and they turned to find the sandy haired servant who brought them here an hour ago, waiting.

He smiled politely at them and said, “if you will follow me.”

They did, silently, and he bid them a very polite farewell as they stood in the grand drive up to Lady Amahita’s house. Once he too was gone, mother started a brisk pace down the cobble stones. Judicaël, the shortest of them, had to skip to keep up, which usually mother would tell him not to do, but today, she was distracted.

“Did that go well, mother?” he asked. It had seemed so to him, but mother did not seem happy. When she looked down at him, her lips were pressed in a thin line – and then sighed, and slowed her gait.

“It went as well as it could have,” mother said.

“Then why are you mad?” Judicaël asked, since there was no one around, he probably did not have to practice disassembling right this moment. Though, if you asked aunt Aglaé, he would never have enough practice in that particular skill.

Mother was silent for a moment, and then she said, “we are playing a sort of game, Judicaël. But it is not a fun one.”

“Is it politics?” Judicaël asked, making Loïc snort, and even mother smiled slightly.

“It’s related, but we’re not terribly political here in Corval. Don’t let your father know I said this but we are, the epitome of a fallen house.”

“I know, aunt Aglaé says it all the time. It’s not lady Amahita’s fault though, is it?” Judicaël asked.

“No, it’s grandfather’s,” Loïc cut in before mother could answer.

“Loïc! Show some respect.”

“Why?” Loïc, who was 13 and, according to father ‘going through some things’, asked, face red. Whether that was because he’d forgotten to bring a hat and was burning, or because he was mad, Judicaël didn’t know. Probably the hat though – with his bright copper hair but mother’s pale skin, Loïc always seemed to be turning red these days.

Judicaël did too, if he wasn’t careful, but _he_ had remembered a hat.

“Because it is what’s done,” mother said. “But no- lady Amahita is not at fault she is merely a reminder.”

“That we had to leave?” Judicaël asked.

“That we are forced to rely on the goodwill of a cousin’s widow,” mother said, scowling now that they’d turned west, following the sun down to the markets below the large estates. “That we’ve nothing to our names except those names, and two pairs of dogs.”

“And a leaking boat,” Loïc said helpfully.

Mother sent him a look she often sent father when he said something stupid and said, “yes, and a leaking boat.”

“It’s not so bad mama,” Judicaël said, trying to cheer her up. “I like the apartment. It smells good!”

Mother chuckled, reaching over to tussle his hat. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to look at it – we fell, but we’ve landed. And there’s only one way to go from here.”

“Up?” Judicaël asked, hopeful the obvious answer was the correct one. It wasn’t always, with mother.

“Unless grandfather invests in some shovels,” Loïc muttered.

“Up,” mother said, ignoring Loïc. They’d finally mad it to the edges of the market district, and Judicaël was relieved when they stepped into the cool shadows of the close together buildings that ringed the local bazaar. As they passed under and arch, she pointed very suddenly, having spotted a loitering ricksaw. “Aha – see? Our fortunes rise.”


	2. Slivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is trying to keep Michi from her mother. Well, Michi's not going to let that stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - Shade

Michi crouched in the closet, staring through a tiny gap as people filed out of mama’s room. When the last person left, mama’s personal maid, Anselma, who closed the door very quietly, and Michi held her breath as Elma took way too long – basically forever – to disappear. Counting to ten, and then ten again because she’d gone too fast. Sneaking was hard, because it meant being quiet _and_ waiting but this was worth it.

She was going so mama. No matter what anyone said.

Tiptoeing, she eased herself out of the closet. Looking up and down the hall – and then again to be super certain, she saw no one, and so, feeling very confident, she scurried over to the door as fast as her toes could take her. Opening it, she blinked to find it as dark as the closet- and then wrinkled her nose at the smell. Dead flowers and something sour and salty.

“Mama?” she called softly, entering the room and closing the door quickly behind her, lest someone look down the hall and see it open. There was no answer, and so Michi carefully crept towards the dark shape she knew was a bed. “Mama, I came to visit,” she said, a little louder.

Still nothing. Frustrated, she came up fully to bed – and then had to slap her own mouth to fight back a shout.

Someone had stolen mama.

The person on the bed looked sort of like her – had her dark curls, and upturned nose – but the rest was all wrong. She was white like a sheet, and looked all stretched out like that same sheet over a bed. Her eyes were closed, but the skin around them were all dark like wholes, and you couldn’t even really see her lips, they were so white.

Shaking, Michi stayed very still, barely daring to breath.

“Mama?” she asked, “are you still there?”

Or, when they’d taken all her colour and all puffiness, had they taken other things too? Her voice? Her sight?

“It’s me, Michi, do you remember me?” she asked, and finally – finally mama, or what was left of her, woke up. There was a moment where she didn’t move, and then she turned, eyes too darkened for Michi to tell if they’d taken her eye colour, too.

“Michi?” she rasped.

“You do remember!” Michi said, surging forward. She knew better than to jostle the bed, but she lay over it carefully, so her face was closer to mama’s.

“Of course I do, how could I forget you my love?” mama asked, bony hand shaking when it touched Michi’s hair.

“I don’t know,” Michi admitted, “I thought maybe someone took it. Your memory that is.”

“No dear,” mama said.

“It smells funny in here mama, d’you want the window open?” Michi asked.

“That would be nice, I miss birdsong,” mama said, and then looked around. “Where’s your father?”

“Um,” Michi said, opening the curtains – not noticing mama flinch at the sudden light behind her. It took a little work to open the window, but Michi used that as an excuse to think about a good. “Everyone agrees I’m big enough to visit by myself,” she said, turning back. “Better?”

“Lovely,” mama said, voice dropping away, head lolling back. Michi waited for her to say something else, but after a moment, realized mama had fallen back to sleep.

“Mama?” Michi gently shook her, and though mama’s head turned, she didn’t wake. Fighting tears, Michi said, “mama, I love you.”

Mama didn’t answer. Michi realized that whoever had stolen her, had taken so much she couldn’t. Eyes swimming with tears, she dashed for the door, barely remembering not to slam it behind her.

Scrubbing at her tears she started down the hall. She’d find the thief. She’d find them, and make them give back mama so she wasn’t just a ghost anymore. Before they could take all of mama, and she was just nothing in a bed.


	3. Tangles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother knows best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Weave

Estelle was no great intellect, she knew this about herself and found it no great loss, because she was still far from stupid. Indeed, in many ways she was better off than those with their noses stuck in books. They knew more of the workings of the world. Of numbers and ideas as substantial as air – but Estelle knew of life. Of adventure, and wonder and love.

Of how love, was a powerful force built on the simplest of foundations.

“So,” she said, gently pulling the brush through Aurora’s long hair, “the main thing is to not be forward. He’s had a great loss, the Baron has. Being crass and cruel will get you nowhere but the mouths of the worst gossips.”

“I know, mother,” Aurora said, her eyes fixed on Estelle through the mirror. Despite the patina on the glass making things just a touchy foggy, flatteringly so really, they were sharp and as a green as leaves through glass. So like Aurean’s. So very – Estelle banished the thought as soon as it flit into her mind. “I’m just not certain we can afford to send me to so many salons.”

“Tosh,” Estelle said, eyeing her work so far and deciding she was done with the brushing and should be onto the braiding. “Of course we can – roads can’t be made without the cost of pavers, and nets can’t be cast without the cost of rope.”

Still fixed on her, Aurora’s eyes seemed to sharpen all the more -

‘ _Essie, don't you know this isn't a game?’_

\- and she asked, “and is this a road, or a net?”

“Really, it’s what you make of it, dear,” Estelle said. “Now – three braids or six?”


	4. like a painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Pippa, a cousin, and a desert sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - Gold

Pippa slipped between tents as quietly as she could, sticking to muddy late afternoon shadows to avoid detection. She wasn’t up to anything, nor did she intend to go anywhere she just needed...space.

She was certain she’d never been touched so much outside of getting dressed by anyone save mother, and not even then for some time. It was alarming, and a little overwhelming. Reaching the edge of the circle of the village, she blinked in the sudden unobstructed light. Before her, the sun was on the edge of setting, painting the pale sands of the desert vibrantly, violently orange and gold where the light could still reach. The sand at the edge of the oasis was hot to the touch, so she settled as comfortably as she could among the straggling ferns.

Sighing, she took a breath. The air was different here, out in the deep desert, the southern mountains looming purple and misty in the background. If she tried though, she could find similarity with some of the smaller gardens in the palace. The oasis, they said, was in full spring bloom to see Great Lufti off, but it meant there were little flowers everywhere.

“Considering a great escape back to your palace?”

Pippa looked up, and smiled at cousin Baran, who’s tone was more teasing than anything. Like her sister Severeen, she favoured their mother greatly, which meant Baran was very pretty and also not at all concerned with propriety or keeping quiet.

“No, I don’t think the walk would be very nice,” Pippa said, shifting over so Baran could sit on the comparatively flat ground with her. “Am I needed?”

“No, big brother Hadi was simply worried about you, but I told him he was being a mother hen.”

“Worried about me?” Pippa asked, now, after three days, able to ignore the fact many of her cousins called their uncle brother. He was younger than Baran’s eldest sister – she could see how they came to that conclusion about his place among them. “Why?”

“Well, it was the sneaking between the tents, mostly,” Baran said, laughter on her voice. Pippa smiled, allowing herself to play with the hem of her dress because this wasn’t the palace, and Jessa wasn’t around to chide her right this moment.

“Oh well, I’m perfectly well,” Pippa said. She couldn’t outright tell Baran she’d done it to be alone, because Baran would likely think it meant Pippa wanted her gone, now that she was here.

“Just wanted a good view of the sunset?” Baran asked, dark eyes looking at her only from the corner. “Or maybe to bask in it?”

“Bask?” Pippa asked, and this time Baran laughed outright, reaching over to tweak one of Pippa’s braids.

“It suits you, the sunset,” she explained.

“Thank you,” Pippa said. “Doesn’t a sunset suit everyone, though?”

Baran chuckled, tugging one final time on a braid before releasing it entirely.

“It is a fair and friendly light to shine in, yes,” Baran said, “but take the compliment. Some of us are meant for morning lights.” She tossed her glossy black hair to make her point, and Pippa giggled.

“Well alright then,” Pippa agreed, and let silence settle as they finished watching the sun’s slow descent into night, golden light all around them for a short time more.


	5. i heard a rumour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Jiyeli students discuss the day's best gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - Renown

“Have you heard?”

Minna swept into the living room like a leaf on the storm, fluttering reds and oranges backed by howling winds which obligingly followed her in.

“When have we ever heard anything before you?” Settan demanded, looking up from his work to reveal he’d been chewing on his calligraphy pen.

“Never, but I live to be surprised. There’s ink on your face again,” Minna said, shrugging her damp overrobe off and kicking her shoes hard enough they bounced against the wall. Taila gripped her book a bit harder to avoid the urge to go tidy after her.

“What – oh damn and I’m meant to be reading tonight,” Settan said, rubbing his face and successfully smearing it a bit more. Taila kicked out at him, barely getting his elbow and earning an extremely wounded face anyway.

“Go wash it off in a basin, you’d think you were raised in a pen,” Taila chided her brother, and then turned back to Minna, who was handling the brief lack of attention suspiciously well. “And you! Your meant to ring Pessi, not fling your stuff all over the place.”

Minna indeed, shrugged, undeterred. Indeed she was grinning as if she’d just been told she’d never have to do another examination in her life and Taila hadn’t said anything at all.

“Is it that bad?” Settan asked, also ignoring Taila’s very good point.

“Yes – now wait for my news before you go scrub yourself raw. Guess who is once again making the rounds in the gossip?”

“Who?” Taila asked, knowing guessing wasn’t the point.

“A certain rich and useless cousin,” Minna said, grin shifting into something downright diabolical.

“Useless – oh no,” Taila sat upright, “not Jiro again.”

Teeth glinting, Minna nodded and Settan swore softly, rubbing his – thankfully not ink covered – hand across his forehead and down his cheek.

“I don’t suppose it’s because he wrote an especially wonderful poem in his spare time, is it?” he asked.

“And upstage you, o poet among poets? No,” Minna said, “apparently he got drunk-” this time Taila and Settan growned in unison, “and cornered that girl of his outside her master’s house. Got in a big yelling match about why she didn’t love him.”

“Oh Jiro” Settan said, head no buried in both hands. Taila very carefully put down her book, hands stiff from how hard she’d been clutching it. Luckily, she’d not torn anything.

“He didn’t get arrested again, did he?” she asked, already trying to count out how much they could spare to get him out before the night was over.

“No, just smacked by an old potter and chided like a school boy in front of all of artisan row’s prime masters and most promising apprentices,” Minna said, sitting back, hands folded on her lap.

“Father will be writing,” Taila said after a moment.

“Everyone will be writing – do you think the university has thrown him out?”

“I hope not,” Taila said, already envisioning having to move Jiro into the little Capital apartment she and Settan shared. Pessi would strange them all in their sleep, if she knew their crotchety house keeper at all.

“Well, I guess that means no reading for me tonight,” Settan said, standing with a scowl. “I’m going to go drag him back here from whatever den he’s curled up in.”

“That little theatre off the red light distract,” Minna said immediately.

“How do you know that?”

“He’s a lady friend there he always runs to, to sate his yearning.”

“Ugh,” Settan said, “alright – I’ll go alone.”

“Oh no you won’t!” Taili said, “go fetch Marin, he’s at the guesthouse at the end of the road and was planning to settle in for the next week to study.”

“Alright,” Settan nodded. Pessi, clearly having sensed something afoot, was there before he could call for her, helping him slip on his outerwear. “Pessi, we’ll need my room set up for Jiro to visit.”

“I see, young master,” Pessi said with a truly admirable lack of distaste. “Shall I assume he’ll need gentle foods, per usual?”

“Yes, especially after I knock all his teeth out,” Settan said.

“Do refrain, young master, your uncle would be displeased,” Pessi said. “Is young mistress Minna once again in need of reminder how to use the bell?” she asked, stooping to pick up Minna’s clothing.

“I could sense food being made,” Minna said earnestly, “I wouldn’t interrupt the chance to get your food faster for the world, Pessi.”

Mollified – Pessi couldn’t remain angry at Minna for more than a second, like most people – Pessi nodded and turned to disappear into the tiny coat closet.

Settan, finishing his ties alone, looked up. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Of course,” Minna said.

“She’d never miss seeing you drag Jiro in here like a recalcitrant child.”

“He _is_ a recalcitrant child,” Settan groused, “alright, tell Pessi we’re feeding five. I’ll bring Marin round, given if he’s dived into studying he’s probably living of whatever sustenance he can lick of his tables.”

“Well there’s a mental image,” Minna said. “Have fun!”

Settan managed to scowl even more, and Minna’s delighted laughter was accompanied by the wind roaring back into the house, rain drumming even louder than if had against the shutters.

“Couldn’t he have picked a sunny day for the dramatics?” Taila asked, returning to her book – or trying to. Minna stole it before she could actually pick it up. “Minna!”

“No! I have more,” Minna said, tucking the book _under_ her like the troglodyte she was.

“I don’t care about gossip,” Taila said. “And if you wrinkle my pages I will kill you and have Pessi bake you into pies.”

“And eat me?”

“No, sell you for two pence a pie.”

“Two pence? You are cruel,” Minna said. “And I don’t care that you don’t care – pretend! Now – are you familiar with the lady Renpi?”


	6. Tea Leaves Unclear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tea reading, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - temperate

Darrien didn’t know what Era saw in Lady Pippa, but then he didn’t spend his whole life in the inner court. Maybe Era just liked that standing next to her made her look taller. As it was, he wasn’t terribly impressed with lady Pippa, seated placidly amongst various would-be delegates and apparently unaware of the intensity of competition in the room.

“Lady Pippa,” he said, calling her attention from where she was politely listening to cousin Kian blather on about who knew what. “I was wondering – there are very few other women trying out as delegates this year, doesn’t that concern you?”

“Oh not at all,” Lady Pippa said, face serious, save the smile lurking in the corners of her eyes. “I’m quite certain my fellows and I will be able to overcome such a stacked deck.”

“Do you? Here I was assuming you just disliked competition,” he said. “Given your...limitations.”

“How kind of you to be concerned,” she said, while Kian sent Darrian a _what are you doing look_ that Darrien ignored. “Brave and courteous – I must say you’ve kept your reputation very well under wraps.”

“I – thank you, Lady Pippa,” he said. “I don’t think risking a rare official tea with a member of the inner court is particularly brave, however.”

“I suppose it depends on ones relationship with porcelain dishes and nut pastries,” she said, dark eyes fixed on his. “Only, there are only five slots and functionally and you do have so very much more competition than I – as you pointed out, there are very few women campaigning this year.”

“Have you forgotten how to count, lady Pippa?” Darrien asked. “It’s a delegation of seven.”

“Is it? Oh, silly me,” she said. Kian was looking downright amused now – Darrien tried to find a smirk or any amusement on Lady Pippa’s face, but she just continued to blink earnestly at him, exuding good will.

“Never fear, no one ever said a good wife needed to be able to count,” Darrien said – earning a scowl from Kian and a Look from lady Golshan, who had been ignoring them up until now. There was no denying he’d gone a bit...obvious with his insult, and people’s interest in what came next was clear.

Lady Pippa simply smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's not at the Summit. And, which between our narrator and Kian is lady Era's favourite cousin.


	7. all the world's a stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Clarmont finds himself cornered by none other than Lady Pippa, who has a favour to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - rehearsal

Clarmont heard the swishing of a dress above him, just a short moment before a now deeply familiar voice called out.

“Lord Clarmont! What a surprise to stumble across you, just when you’d be of use,” lady Pippa said, coming into view at the stop of the stairs leading down to the servant’s quarters.

“Ah, you’ve found my weakness, lady Pippa, how may I be of service?” he asked, coming up only as far as eye height and stopping. A novel experience, given the disparity in height lady Pippa suffered with most people on the island.

“Well, her highness, Princess Penelope is feeling rather anxious about our looming debut,” the lady said, smiling demurely at Clarmont in a manner he had learned was incredibly dangerous. He’d met more persuasive speakers in his life – though hardly better spoken, it must be said. He couldn’t however think of anyone so good at getting what she wanted through sheer force of benevolence.

Well, perhaps her highness, but the Wellish princess seemed rather less aware of it than lady Pippa – to neither’s detriment.

“And I am her counterpart,” Clarmont said ruefully, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes, you do catch on quickly my lord.”

Laughing, he considered how much time he had – never enough it seemed. And then he considered what would happen when, not if, lady Pippa dragged the princess back to convince him. “I’ve a previous commitment, but I’ll be done before the hour is out, if yourself and her highness can practice without me for a while.”

“Perfect, it will give us time to coax his highness into playing chaperone.”

“I would hate to be the cause of any gossip,” Clarmont said, smiling. Her answering grin was rather more sly than usual.

“Why my lord, consider this – there would be two of us. It’s your own virtue’s perception I would worry over.”

He barked a laugh that was rather louder than his usual chuckle, caught off guard.

“Very true, my lady. A good thing I have you to safeguard my good name,” he said – and caught the way the compliment seemed to hit her more than he intended. Not poorly though, not if the way her smile softened said anything.

“Yes, my lord, and I am happy to do so,” she said. “Her highness and I will be out in the gazebo, most likely. If we move, I’ll have someone find you.”

“An hour then, my lady,” he said, mounting the last few stairs.

“An hour,” she said, nodding to him. “Take care, lord Clarmont.”

“You as well,” he said. She nodded sagely.

“I shall be on the look out for particularly thorny roses,” she promised, and then, with a polite semi-curtsy, she turned on her heel, headed towards the guest halls. Clarmont watched for a moment, the swishing collection of blue and yellow fabric somewhat hypnotic to a poorly slept mind – and then shook his head.

He did not have time to waste, even without impromptu rehearsals looming over his head.


	8. twofold, or maybe dual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an uncomfortable space between what is true and untrue - where you're just left uncertain of either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - Query

You are twelve years old when you realize.

It’s a sunny day, bright enough to warm you even as winter stubbornly clings to spring’s trailing skirts. Your father is at the pond in the back of the practical garden – the one full of fruit and vegetables, flowers some might dub unbeautiful but which you’ve been raised to value as much as any. Beauty, your father said, is not found only in uniformity and unblemished, satin finishes. It can be found in patterns or in deviation alike, in myriad colours or in simple, earthy brown.

Today he is not studying flowers though. He is studying frogs, and he smiles as you join him at the edge of the pond, careful not to let your skirts drag and ruin the hems.

“Good afternoon father,” you say.

“Good afternoon, daughter,” he says, a laugh on his voice. His sketch book is balanced on his lap, and without thinking you reach out, pushing it back so it can’t topple into the water. Your father stops you, offering it to you instead. It takes some squinting and careful placement, but you realize it’s notes on colour morphs.

Looking in the pond, you see he’s managed some interesting combinations this year – but your eyes catch on one currently huddled under a lilypad, large eyes looking back at you untrustfully. It’s white, purely white, save some black freckle like marks you can see around it’s eyes, disappearing to the back of its head.

“Why is that one so pale?”

“I cannot be certain, but I had a similar one two years – less lucky though, it was barely grown before a keen eyed kingfisher spotted it. I believe it’s an inherited condition.”

“From the mother or father?”

“It seems you need both,” father says, “I’ll have to see what happens if it survives to its own breeding season to be sure.”

There’s something in his voice, and you think it’s just curiosity until much later, when you catch a view of yourself in the mirror.

Of pale, red-tinged violet eyes that don’t focus right. Paler than they ought to be.

Three weeks later, seated in your father’s study as the rain lashes the countryside, you are to broach the topic.

“Father,” you say it delicately, fingers tracing over pictures you’ve looked at your whole life. The stories your father would make up about them, threading information through brightly coloured pretend worlds still sitting somewhere in your mind. “Why did you and mother divorce?”

Father doesn’t even look up from what he’s carefully inking. “We simply were very different people, and neither of us would be happy living the other’s dream.”

“It’s not because of me?” you ask, heart in your mouth, hands curled on your lap to keep from shaking.

“Of course not,” father says, looking over at you with his dark, dark eyes. “What brought this on?”

You consider lying, very briefly, but you want badly to be brave, and even more badly to know so you instead you say, “the pale frog.”

There’s a pause, and then father turns in his chair, bringing hands up to your face to pull you in, forehead to forehead.

“You are my daughter,” he said.

“Really?” you ask.

“Yes,” father says, letting you go but not pulling away. “Always yes.”

You nod, and linger only long enough to make yourself feel better about retreating. Unease lingers in your gut and though you learned something, you don’t think it was what you wanted to.

You just learned that a lie is not a lie when a word can mean two things.

But it’s still not necessarily the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhhh let's pretend they have some slightly advanced for their comparative era genetic research going on >>

**Author's Note:**

> Judicaël, per the tags at the moment, is lady Pippa of Corval's father. This is set about 36 years before canon, or about 14 years before Pippa is born.


End file.
